A/N: Hello all! This is a story that I've had in my head, and finally I've gotten around to writing it all out. Quick disclaimer, I don't own any characters other than the Beneforts and Wyllsands. I hope you all enjoy :)


prologue


The sunrise looked magnificent from the perch of the tower. The highest tower the Nightfort had, providing even more extravagant views of the rising of the sun than the castle already had. Fresh morning dew laced the icy valley to the east, brooding mountains standing guard over the small village beyond the castle. Arabelle wiped her tired eyes as the first few rays peered over the mountain. She often woke up before dawn, watching the light slowly spill in to the valley as the day began. Her father had started this routine when she was young, tickling her toes to wake her from her slumber and carrying her to this tower half asleep as a child.

She missed being a child. To children there is no such thing as the future, just the present. They play, learn and love. A lot of girls that had been her playmates growing up had dreamed of the day they would marry, saying their vows with their one true love and living happily ever after for the rest of their days. But that's just what it was, a dream. Most marriages were loveless, some meeting just days before they would commit the rest of their lives to one another.

Arabelle's parents had been blessed, she supposed. They were in love; it was plain to see just in the way they looked at one another. They were a team. So far, Arabelle had escaped the clutches of marriage. Her father had prevented any marital alliances from happening, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Alyn Benefort had fought alongside the great King in his rebellion seventeen years prior, having been great friends with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark as boys. The three of them had grown up in Jon Arryn's care, the Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East. He raised the boys as his own and the three of them were brothers, not in blood, but in heart. House Benefort had the crown's favour, and the gratitude of not just a King, but a brother. Alyn was respected, not seeking any alliances or money. He was allowed to take his time in marrying his children off.

She just prayed she wouldn't have to marry the young prince. She didn't know much of him, only that he was four years younger than her and fair of hair. She had no desire to be a queen, not even a desire to be a wife. To her, fulfilment would come in the form of seeing everything, all of the beauty that the Kingdoms have to offer. A smirk crept upon her face as the sun slowly rose higher and higher in to the sky, it's light flushing into the valley. She leant backwards and swung her legs over the windowsill, standing back up before breaking in to a run.

Her leather boots were quiet on the cold cobbled stone of the tower, the stairs winding down for what felt like seconds before she skipped out in to the cold corridor, jutting quickly into her room to wrap her heavy fur-lined coat around her, tying it above her breast and swinging her nearby quiver over her shoulders, her black bow quickly following suit. She grabbed her leather gloves before rushing once again in to the corridor and slowly pulling her door shut.

Grasping her gloves, she jogged down the winding corridors grinning wildly as the cold air number her face. It was as fine a morning as any to go hunt, and it was as good an excuse as any to slip away from embroidery lessons and dancing with the Septa.

Her boots squeaked slightly as she came to a quick stop, spotting a guard on post. Sometimes the younger guards would sneak out to the taverns late at night, rendering themselves into a state of intoxication almost unheard of and missing their shifts. The good ones would always make it back by the time Mrs. Flynnt started marching down the halls, checking on the guard.

"My lady."

Sir Hornwood, of course. He was a good man, not far off of her father's age. He was focused on his duty and didn't take part in the whoring and drunkenness the others might have.

"Please, Sir Hornwood, you know better than that. It's Ari to you." She smiled sweetly at the man.

He was broad-shouldered and only slightly greying. A very handsome man, she thought.

"You've known me near on ten years now, and kept me out of trouble more times than I can count."

"Formalities, Ari. Wouldn't want Mrs. Flynnt to hear me misaddressing our young lady, would we?" The two chuckled, but he was most certainly right. Mrs. Flynnt organised all of the staff of the castle, and by the Gods if she didn't do her best to give the guar a hard time too, usually cracking the whip harder than their captain.

"Perhaps she could explain to me why no one was on guard down my end of the hall?" She smirked. "I just simply had to investigate, you see." She batted her thick eyelashes, the soldier's eyes crinkling as he laughed. She smiled too, nodding to the door behind her. "Is he in?"

Sir Hornwood gestured to the door plainly. "If you dare to waken the beast, be my guest." Arabelle smiled back at him, "It seems I am the only one brave enough."

The greying guardsman opened the door for her. "Good luck." He winked at her before closing it behind her.


"Corbois wasn't on guard at my quarters this morning. You owe me a crown over that." Arabelle smirked as she leant against the frame of her brother's balcony.

"Well they usually don't crack until about two years in, I suppose when Flynnt finds out he'll be given a good flogging." She could hear the smirk in his voice. Doran enjoyed Flynnt's telling-to's, though far less when he was on the receiving end of them.

He groaned with tiredness as he pushed himself up, rolling his eyes as his sister paced to the foot-end of his bed. "Mother can try as she might, but she'll never get you out of those leathers." He nodded to her attire before stretching back, yawning.

Arabelle scoffed. She was partly thankful that her mother was not as persistent as she could be on the matter. She loved that her daughter preferred running through the mud and hunting to more becoming hobbies of a young woman, Arabelle knew. But these behaviours weren't exactly suited to married life. All Mariesya Benefort wanted for her children was a long and full life.

"Practicality, dearest brother. You try wearing a dress, I tell you it is not nearly as comfortable as it looks." She smirked over at him as she mocked a curtsey. "Besides, would you have me hunt in a dress?"

Doran laughed and lifted his head to look at his sister. "You have me there."

Doran was tall and muscular, a broad physique that Arabelle mockingly credited to the amount of sweet cakes the boy consumed. He was uniquely coloured for a man of the North, no doubt in part thanks to their fair-haired Southern mother. His hair was shorter than most men his age wore it, with the colour and intensity of flames. He was slightly paler than his sister, but both had the Benefort blue eyes. Though twins, it was hard to pick unless you stood the two together and really looked at them. Arabelle had inherited her father's mousy brown hair. Though pale, she had the olive-toned skin of her mother. The Benefort children were well known for their attractiveness – it had made them desirable as potential partners for many a lord's children.

Arabelle flashed a grin before turning to examine a row of trinkets along her brother's drawers. "They call us the twin foxes, you know." She ran her finger along the surface of the table, collecting the dust. "A name given to us at court by the people that covet us for the noble little children."

Doran hung his head between his knees, and Arabelle could hear the smile break upon his lips. "Interesting… and what do they say about these, 'twin foxes'?"

Arabelle giggled and made her way to a plate of lemon cakes on his small table, taking one delicately between her fingers. "They say the boy is a fierce fighter, a captivating man of the North with flames for hair." She put the lemon cake in her mouth, devouring the whole thing in one bite.

Doran raised his eyebrow at her with a small smile, as if to say 'charming'. He stood up and pulled a shirt from his floor, chuckling at his sister. "A wonder that his scalp has not succumbed to burns!"

She licked her fingers and jumped on to his bed, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. "And the girl?" She grinned up at him.

Doran smirked as he pulled his boots on, laying his shirt across his knees. "Well, they say the girl is ugly. Horrifically disfigured. She eats like a pig." Arabelle hit his arm, rolling on to her back and grinning, waiting for him to continue. "She's dumb and lame and she's not even a real Benefort! She's just a ward they claim as their own." He chuckled as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"Oh, the horror!" She rested a palm against her head, pretending to be feint. Doran smirked over at his sister.

Their smiles died out as they looked at each other, Doran fixing his shirt as he looked in the mirror above his drawers. "I fear that father has protected us long enough, Doran." Arabelle looked to her hands as she sat up, watching her brother's back. "I don't want to leave the Nightfort."

Doran sighed his agreement and stepped over to his sister, taking her small hands in to his own. "I'll miss having someone to pick on. I fear Mrs Flynnt would not be anywhere near as receptive to my tricks."

She chuckled and ran a hand through her brother's hair. "I'd make sure to be here for the funeral, chummy."

He smiled at his sister, eyes widening as he spoke. "And who would I hunt with? I assure you, Hornwood is nowhere near as good a shot as you."

Their smiles slowly faded, Doran sitting up on the bed next to his sister, a hand on her knee. She knew he felt it too. They were twins, inseparable since birth. Their father could only delay it for so long.

Their heads perked up as they heard heavy boots upon the cobbled stone and muffled voices from the corridor. The young foxes watched the door as the balding Lord Alyn Benefort barged in, clad in his leathers, holding a scroll bearing the stag, the royal seal. He hesitated, running a hand through the remnants of his hair and wiping small beads of sweat from his brow before continuing towards his children.

"A raven. From King's Landing."